


The Risk Series 4:  An Element of Risk

by KS_POI_Pretender_Fan



Series: The Risk Series [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan/pseuds/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He ended it. She's moving on.<br/>Warning: Mention of self harm and attempted suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: A Warning. There are segments of the fic that deal with self-harm and an attempt at suicide. Nothing too graphic, but wanted to put a warning so people can opt out if they want to.
> 
> AN2: Thanks to Rose_Griffes & SassyJ for the beta!

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

John was sitting at a booth across from Carter. She had just informed him of Mark Snow's sudden appearance.

"Been doing a little work on the side?"

"I'm a Homicide Detective, John. You know what I do. You shouldn't have brought me in if you didn't want me asking questions."

"Are you sure it was Snow?"

"I saw him fleeing the scene of the crime wearing a bomb vest. He looked desperate, helpless, like someone was holding him on a string. He said to tell you that SHE was planning something . . . something big."

"Who?"

"That's what I want to know. Do you know what this is all about John? And if you did, would you even tell me?"

"You're one hell of a detective Carter, and I can't stop you from looking. But you already know quite a bit about me. Finch. And you may know we both had people who once cared about us. Not anymore. But you, you still have your son. Your life is still yours. So I think the real question you have to ask yourself detective, is how much more you really want to know."

* * *

Smiling contentedly lying on her belly, Zoe woke up to warm wet kisses trailing down her back. She feigned sleep; she wanted to see how far he would go to wake her up. He must have sensed her wakeful state because he stopped.

_Damn it._

"I know you're awake."

"Don't know what you're talking about Rambo. I'm still asleep," She said as she snuggled deeper into her pillow.

Zoe could not only sense but hear the smirk as he said. "Hmm. Well then, I guess you won't feel it if I do this," She was completely awake and was expecting for something hot and preferably involving his tongue.

Instead, he tickled her.

Zoe couldn't help it. She was extremely ticklish and that rat-bastard John remembered. Her body began to shake with laughter. As she tried to turn onto her back for retaliation, she wasn't given a chance as John leaned in and gave her a deep kiss.

Rubbing her leg against his, "Good morning, John," she whispered in his ear. Zoe's hand cupped the side of his face, her thumb rubbing his stubbled cheek, feeling a shaft of electricity run through them.

"Good Morning, Zoe," he whispered back, smiling. Looking at her, he was amazed at how happy she looked. The bruises she sustained from Michael Matthews were almost completely gone, as far as John was concerned, she was back to her normal, ball-buster with the acid tongue Zoe, but different.

They had had a turning point of sorts in their arrangement. Something had changed significantly between them when she opened up and let him see the real Zoe, the one that had been kept in her box. They had gotten closer and showed they cared in little ways. Which made what he was about to do doubly hard.

"Zoe, we have to talk . . ." John started.

Something in his expression must have given him away; she said, "This is it, isn't it?" in a quiet tone.

John didn't immediately reply. He didn't know how to tell her that in order to protect Zoe from HER, he suspected it was his old CIA handler Kara Stanton, he had to leave her.

"Zoe . . ." he sighed, ". . . it's not . . . "

"I swear John, if you say 'it's not you, it's me', I am going to kick your ass." Zoe said through gritted teeth. She had never been dumped before and she didn't know quite how to deal with it. Instead, she just looked more intently at him, waiting for an explanation.

"It's not safe for you to . . . "

She didn't let him finish. As if she knew what he was thinking. "You're ending this to protect me?" Zoe wasn't naïve or stupid for that matter. She was made well aware on many occasions that what John and Harold did was dangerous and life-threatening. There was always an element of risk in knowing people like John.

"Of course . . ." he replied.

"So, are you cutting all ties with Harold or Detective Carter?"

When John maintained his silence, she continued. "I see. Why am I different?"

John really didn't have an answer, not a clear one anyway, to her question. And he didn't think she would accept a "because you are" answer.

"John, you aren't responsible for what happens to everyone. I am perfectly capable of getting my own ass killed." Another woman, John moving on, she expected that. But for him to leave in order to protect her; that was something altogether unexpected.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, he never realized how hard breaking up was.

"Breaking up? What are we in high-school?" Zoe said with quite a bite to her tone. Too late, John didn't realize he had said it out loud.

"Zoe . . ." John decided to start over.

"I get it John. We're done." Having an early morning breakfast meeting with a client, she headed towards the bathroom to get ready, but had one more thing to say, "I never knew you to run away from a fight."

* * *

Letting out a ragged sigh, Zoe fought to control her temper as yet another prospective client bailed on her at the last minute. "I'm sorry Miss Morgan your associate has convinced me that your services are not a match for our needs at the moment. I have your card and will most certainly give you a call if we do need your services in the future.

Ben Atwater ran a hedge fund out of Dallas and had flown in specifically to talk to Zoe about handling some public relations issues his company was having. Zoe had been looking forward to this particular client because it would have given her a chance to get out of New York.

In the last six weeks since their arrangement had ended, Zoe and John hadn't seen or spoken to each other. It hadn't prevented Zoe from sensing when John was around. This was the third potential client she had lost because her "associate" had convinced them to use someone else's services.

"Let me guess Ben, was my associate a big guy wearing a suit? Talks like Clint Eastwood in his younger days?" Zoe asked what she already knew.

"Y-yes, John I believe his name was," Ben stuttered. She wondered what tactic he had used this time. The last one, he had dangled over the balcony until the poor man cried uncle. The one before that was a perfectly groomed head of hair flushed in a toilet.  _Really?_ She thought.  _Couldn't he have found a more mature way?_

"Well, I'm sorry it didn't work out." Zoe stood and held her hand out. Professional to the end, she never knew when or if they would need her services in the future.

As she made her way to the bar, where she knew her "associate" would be, she ticked off the criteria that she suspected John used to target those clients that wouldn't need her services. Male, single, attractive and had the reputation for being a ladies man. Huh, it seems as if John's green eyed monster reared its ugly head. His shenanigans were costing her and it had to stop.

She spotted him nursing a club soda at the bar. The bartender had to love that. Without bothering with a greeting, Zoe took the seat next to John. "Buy a girl a drink John?" He looked at her with a slightly guilty look then nodded to the bartender.

"Stay out of my business, John; I can't afford to lose clients right out of the gate." She said quietly without preamble, tightly reigning in her temper.

"There will be others. You're in high demand." He replied in a flat voice.

"That's not the point." Zoe said as she pinched the bridge of her nose, showing her frustration at the current situation. "It's my decision John, not yours."

"Zoe. . ." John began.

The bartender had finally brought her scotch. She downed it in one gulp. "Don't John. You decided to step away, for my protection." Zoe gritted her teeth, quashing the immature desire to use her fingers to make quotation marks in the air.

"It was." John stated matter of fact.

"Then how safe are you making it for me when you're around at practically every client meeting, luncheon, and yoga class," she asked sadly. It bothered her terribly that he was willing to watch her, to protect her, but at the same time, he didn't want to be with her.

When John first ended their arrangement, he never realized how difficult it would be for him to keep his distance. The first few weeks, he had to convince himself again and again that she was safer away from him. But he found that the only way to assuage his concern was to keep an eye on her when he could. Apparently, he had lost his ability to be inconspicuous around Zoe.

"John, I'm a big girl. Stay away. You're not making it any easier for either one of us." Gently taking his face between her hands, she gave him a soft kiss and touched her forehead to his, before turning and walking away.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

He was watching her from the office building across the street. He had observed her routine for the past several weeks, same day, same dance studio; ten little girls following her lead. She would get to the studio, half an hour before the little girls showed up and waited. She looked regal and graceful warming up at the barre dressed in a black leotard, pink tights, ballet flats and dance skirt. Each little girl that was dropped off would catch sight of her and run towards her arms outstretched. She always picked up each little girl and swung her around in circles, an unguarded and carefree smile on her face.

Taking a position at the barre, as she dipped into a demi-plie, ten little girls in pink tights and black leotards mimicked her movements. The same thing occurred when she lifted up on her toes to an eleve. Ten, no, nine little girls rose up on their toes, one lost her balance.

"You do know if she finds out you've been lurking in the shadows keeping an eye on her for weeks, it won't end well." Finch said coming through John's ear bud.

"Who says she'll find out?" John asked. Although he hadn't been the cause of any lost potential clients, John still felt it was his obligation to keep an eye on Zoe.

"I suspect Mr. Reese, that Miss Morgan is already aware of your presence."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, possibly because she told me to call off my "hound" and she didn't mean Bear, when I spoke to her."

"You talked to her?"

"Yes, this morning. We need her services with our new number."

"Finch! Couldn't you have put Carter on this?"

"Detective Carter is taking care of her own cases at the moment and honestly you and Detective Fusco would look very unattractive in tights and a tutu."

"A what?"

Not answering the question, Finch continued. "Madeline Rios is fifteen, an A/B student at Bradbury Academy on scholarship and an aspiring ballerina. She lives with her brother who owns a small bodega in Queens. Her parents passed away eighteen months ago in a car accident. She was with them, but somehow survived. This girl is determined to make it into Julliard and for the past few months has been working on her audition piece at the Above The Barre Dance Studio. The studio is owned by Maggie Wilson, John." Katie's grandmother. The same Katie, Zoe almost died protecting.

"And, your Miss Morgan has been helping teach one class a week to help Mrs. Wilson out while she takes her husband to rehab and has been coaching Madeline with her audition piece."

"She's not my Miss Morgan, Finch."

_Not anymore_.

* * *

It had been three months since their arrangement had ended. To the eye, Zoe hadn't changed. Her hair was still the same length and perfectly coiffed. She wore less makeup, more out of choice than anything else. Her clothes were still tailored and sharp when she was working. Although externally, she still exuded confidence and strength, inside she felt alone.

Of course their relationship had been challenging and unusual, they were both challenging and unusual people. But their relationship had been uniquely theirs. She missed it; she missed him and them and hated to admit the weakness; that without John, Zoe felt cold and bereft. And he chose to leave her instead of fight with her against whatever hazards he felt were out there.

_"No one is going to take care of you but you, Zoe." Zoe's mother told her._

_"But mama, what if I get married one day?" Twelve year old Zoe asked._

_"It's rare to find someone you can depend on. And sometimes when you do, they leave."_

_"But mama, don't you depend on daddy?"_

_"Sometimes, even the ones you depend on won't do the right things."_

_"Mama, will I ever find someone I can love and depend on?"_

_"I hope you do. But that is all up to you."_

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she focused on warming up at the barre before Madeline Rios arrived. The dance studio was a large empty room with shiny non-slip floors and mirrors on three sides, barres on two. As she warmed up her way through her plies and eleves, she thought about Madeline. Harold's call that morning had spurred Zoe to ponder about the changes in Madeline in the last few months.

When she had first met Madeline, before her parents were killed, she appeared like any happy and carefree teenager. She had been bound and determined to get into Julliard and was convinced that if she worked hard enough she could. Continuing her warm up, Zoe started on her tendus and rond de jambs and thought about the past several months. Something had changed in Madeline. Her smile was less forthcoming, her sense of humor had dampened, and she seemed edgy and short tempered. It was understandable given the death of her parents, but . . .

"This how you keep those legs of yours in shape?"

Zoe paused for a quick second then continued with her warm up. "I told Harold that I would take care of this."

"I know, but . . . "

"He already showed me how to pair Madeline's phone, John," she said in a hard voice.

"Trying to get rid of me?" John got it. Zoe was evidently still pissed at him.

"What exactly were you expecting? I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke?" Zoe was fuming inside. He had a brass pair if he thought she didn't notice him blending into the background of every client meeting she had taken in the last three months. And cost her at least three potential clients in the first six weeks. She kept her mouth shut and just stared at him through the mirrors. In the last six weeks, although he hadn't cost her anymore clients, his presence was still felt.

The weight of her stare made John internally squirm, yes, definitely, still pissed off at him. "Zoe, I know you're still upset, but it was for your own good."

"I asked you to stay away, John. But as always you did whatever the hell you wanted. Leave, I can handle this." With that, John was dismissed.

* * *

As with any typical teenager, Madeline Rios was on her phone constantly. Rolling her eyes as she hung up, she mouthed a "whatever".

With and sigh and seemingly glum, she greeted Zoe. "Hi."

"Madeline," Zoe nodded to her. ". . . is everything okay?"

"Yeah . . ." Madeline hedged. ". . . Fine . . ."

"Sure?"

"Everything is fine Zoe, let's just get started okay?" Madeline said shortly.

Zoe decided to let her little flare up go for the moment.

Madeline quickly shed her outerwear until she was left with the traditional tights, leotards, and point shoes. Looking at her closely, Zoe realized that Madeline had lost some weight. Barely taller than Zoe's five-foot-four, Madeline looked like she weighed less than one hundred pounds.

With a dramatic sigh, Madeline placed her feet and arms in fifth position awaiting her music to begin. Raising herself en pointe, she began her routine.

Zoe watched Madeline with a trained eye. Develope, she extended her leg forward gracefully, grande jete, double pirouette and on it continued. Zoe could see the change in Madeline from surly teenager to prima ballerina. One who truly loved to dance, that is until she fell towards the end of her routine.

"Fuck!" Madeline cursed.

Zoe was surprised at the explanative coming from her and the anger in which it was delivered. Madeline was normally a good natured kid with a clean mouth; something was going on with her.

"I may as well just quit. What's the point of doing this?" Madeline whined.

"It's okay Madeline. Let's do it again. En pointe. Remember turn out at the hip. Start in fifth position."

"I know already, jeez, Zoe, I'm not stupid . . ."

Mentally throwing her hands up, Zoe was at a loss. She was fifteen once, a long time ago, but without knowing what was going on with Madeline, she just couldn't understand. Zoe wasn't comfortable actually pairing Madeline's phone, but at this point, it was her only option.

* * *

_Twelve-year old Zoe loved to dance. She danced to be free, to forget, to have something to love even when she felt no one loved her. The children at the prestigious dance school she had gone to since she was four could be harsh, especially after her father had been indicted. It almost came to the point where she hated going to dance class as well as the public school in Queens._

_When dancing didn't make her feel free or to forget, then what was the point? Zoe's feelings of hurt and abandonment swirled around her twelve year old mind. That's when she caught sight of the razor blade. What's the big deal she thought? The older girls did it._

_She had always been a pistol of a little a girl; friendly, bright and precocious. Then the scandal hit and her idyllic childhood ended the day her daddy was taken away and they had to move out of their house in Yonkers into a small apartment in Queens just her and her mom._

_Zoe focused on the sparkle of the blade. It would make things easier, make her forget, just a little right?_

_As she made the little incision on her upper inner thigh, where people couldn't see, Zoe was thinking. "I hate you daddy, I hate you. You left me and mama alone."_

* * *

A desperate tormented cry wrenched Zoe into consciousness.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, she was slick with sweat as she tried to desperately to untangle herself from the sheets and blankets. Disoriented and petrified, she fought to catch her breath as her heart beat painfully fast in her chest. Swallowing hard, she grimaced at the pain it caused in her throat. She realized then, that the screams that woke her came from her. She had been screaming at her father? Good grief what brought this on?

She immediately reached for her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in months. With a huff, she suspected that he had switched burner phones several times by now. Zoe curbed her inclination to call him for comfort, for him to tell her it will be okay.

Still shaky, Zoe threw the covers back and made it to her bathroom, splashing cool water on her face. She looked at her terrified reflection staring back at her from the mirror. Why did that dream affect her in such a way? It made her feel as if she was missing something important. Putting her head in her hands, she desperately tried to forget the details. It was something she didn't want to remember.

Zoe wandered back into her bedroom and stared at the tumbled mass of bed covers. There would be no more slumber for her tonight. Not that lack of sleep was anything out of the ordinary for her. Working at the dance studio and with Madeline brought back those old feelings of loss, abandonment, and pain that she had thought she had buried deep. Thoughts and feelings that never failed to keep her up at night.

* * *

Zoe had to grit her teeth. Understanding text messages from kids these days can be trying. It's almost like another language.

Leslie:  **ru**   **cmng**   **W**  us  **aftr**   **skool**   **2**   **gt**  ice cream? (Are you coming with us after school to get ice cream?)

Madeline: No.  **Ive**   **danC**   **cls**   **W**  Zoe  **d**   **battl**  ax (No. I have dance class with Zoe the battle axe.)

Leslie:  **K**.  **h.a**   **u**   **gunA**   **d**  pep rally? It  **wl**   **B**  fun. . . Josh  **wl**   **B**   **der**. (Okay. How about tomorrow? You going to the pep rally? It will be fun. . . Josh will be there.)

Madeline: . I  **dnt**   **knw**. Zoe  **myt**   **wn2**   **mEt**   **agn**   **4**  rehearsal (I don't know. Zoe might want to meet again for rehearsal).

Leslie: K. t2ul (Okay, talk to you later.)

Madeline: k. bye.

"Well Miss Morgan, what do you make of that conversation?" Finch asked.

"She's avoiding her friends. We don't have a scheduled rehearsal today." Zoe said in a clipped tone, still irked that she was called a battle axe. Only sixty year old women were called battle axes. She was more used to being called a bitch.

"Well, I wonder why that is. Don't most fifteen year old girls live to be with their friends?"

"Absolutely, and throw in a cute boy. . . " Suddenly, Zoe had a thought. "Harold, is it possible for you to get into her facebook or myspace accounts? Also, since I only paired her phone last night, can you get her history of texts and voice mail?"

"I should be able to. What are you thinking Miss Morgan?"

"I'm not certain, but some of the signs are there. I'll know more once we can see more of her text and call history." Zoe suspected that Madeline may still be harboring some survivor's guilt about the car accident that claimed her parents. That or may be the subject of some sort of bullying or taunting.

In the past several months, Madeline had certainly showed the signs. She was highly emotional after being on her phone and hardly talked to Zoe about what she was up to, even though when they first started working together, Madeline treated Zoe like an aunt and told her everything. Her grades were slipping; she used to be a straight A student, but now has slipped to an A/B student. Zoe was witness to several severe mood swings.

She hoped that if they could pinpoint what is causing the irritable and inconsistent behavior, they may be able to identify the potential for danger.

"And Harold?" Zoe added.

"Yes, Miss Morgan?"

"I really don't need John to be checking up on me or following me. I can handle this."

* * *

_She had such a horrible day. All the dancers were being so mean to her, calling her names, saying her dad was a jailbird. It was awful. And she didn't get the solo. The kids at school were mean too. They kept taunting her, telling her that she wasn't any better than they were. She never thought she was better._

_'You know you want to, it will make it all better. It has before.' That little voice in her fourteen year old mind was goading her, the voice that had been telling her the same thing for the last two years._

_Zoe opened her hair box, the one that held all her hair ties and pins to keep her hair in place. She pulled out the little packet of razor blades, pulled one out and looked at it almost in a trance. Watching her tear stained face in the mirror as she cut into her thigh. She wanted to see, had to see the pain._

_'Daddy left you.'_

_'Momma wants you to be tough. Don't let them see. Don't let them see. You're tough.'_

_'I'm just a kid.'_

_'Daddy left you.'_

_'Be tough Zoe. You have to. Don't let them see you cry. Don't let them think you're weak.'_

_'I'm just a kid.'_

_'They left you all alone.'_

_"Zoe!" She heard a gasp behind her and guiltily dropped the razor blade as she saw best friend Jamie's concerned face in the mirror._

_Jaime moved further into her bathroom. "Zoe . . . what are you doing?" As Jamie reached her side, she grabbed Zoe by the arm and looked at the trickle of blood sliding down her leg and the blade on the floor lightly stained with her blood. "Oh, Zoe . . ." she looked in dismay at the old barely visible scars on her friend's leg._

_Jaime saw the despondent look in her friend's eyes. Carefully, she picked up the razor blade, washed it off then threw it in the trash. Zoe let her clean her cut and put a band aid on it. 'This isn't fair,' she thought. 'Zoe got ripped off. Her daddy's gone and her momma may as well be for as little as she was involved in Zoe's life,' her best friend didn't deserve this._

_Jaime gently led her friend to her bed and lifted the covers. Zoe got in and lay on her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. Jaime sat behind her and just rubbed her back. "It's okay Zoe. We'll find a way out of this okay? We can talk to my mom. She's good at making me feel better," she said as she heard Zoe start to sniffle._

_"Zoe? How did it start?" Jaime asked quietly._

_Zoe sniffled some more and sat up. Jaime put her arm around her to encourage her to talk._

_"When daddy left . . ." Zoe looked at her hands, anywhere but at Jaime. ". . . Momma didn't understand . . ." she looked at Jaime, a confused look in her eyes, "and I thought . . . I thought if I could . . . " the confusion and pain apparent in her voice._

_"You thought that if you hurt yourself, it would make it better?" Jaime said sadly and took Zoe's hand._

_Zoe looked at her best friend, wise beyond her years, and nodded, ashamed. Jaime put her arm around her friend. "Sweetie, let's talk to my mom okay? You don't need to do this. You deserve so much more."_

* * *

Zoe's arms tightened around the pillow and tried to calm her breathing. No matter how hard she tried, the memories just overwhelmed her today. Even when she was younger, she would never let anyone see her like this; a sobbing, stressed out mess. Losing her battle for control her tears dampened her pillow. As a form of self preservation, she had perfected the armor that everyone else saw.

There had always been two Zoes: the balls-to-the-walls, take no prisoners one, who lived for control and the upper hand; and the private Zoe, the woman inside who still had remnants of the hurt, frightened, abandoned child. The pain of which had never gone away.

Tonight was worse than any other day. Her concerns about Madeline, the long forgotten memories on top of her months of being alone added up. With her self-control collapsing around her, Zoe sat on her bed looking at her hair box and its contents. She often did this, to force herself to remember.

Self-harm had been her younger self's way of coping with problems. It helped her express feelings that she could never put into words, distracted her from life and released emotional pain. And although she had felt temporarily better the painful feelings always returned and she felt the urge to hurt herself again.

At times like these, she would thank her lucky stars that her best friend had come to her rescue.

In the back of her mind she would hear Jaime's voice saying,  _Zoe Morgan, you deserve to feel better; you can get there without hurting yourself._

But more importantly, she would hear her own voice say;  _Yes, I deserve better. I am worth it._  Zoe looked at her hair box realizing that she had long ago rid herself of those razor blades. The absence of those blades served to remind her that she made it through a dark period of her life. And that it was her turn to help a young woman, so much like she was at that age, make it through a dark period in hers.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Madeline: ey Guys!  **IL**   **B**   **gon**   **4**   **awhle**   **n**  won't  **B**   **seein**   **u**.  **feelN**  tired of it  **ll**.  **LY**  guys,  **IL**   **ms**   **u**. (Hey Guys! I'll be gone for awhile and won't be seeing you. Feeling tired of it all. Love You guys, I'll miss you.)

As soon as Zoe saw the text message from Madeline to her friends, she knew that something had gone really wrong. She knew that text was meant as a last goodbye. She immediately got on her phone to Harold as she was trying to hail a cab.

Zoe didn't even wait for Harold's greeting. "Harold, is it possible for you to put a tracer on Madeline's phone?"

"Of course . . . " Zoe could hear clicking on the other end of the line as Harold activated the tracer on Madeline's phone. ". . . She appears to be at home at the moment. Have you determined who the threat is to Madeline?"

"Madeline is the threat . . ."

* * *

Madeline's house, when Zoe arrived, was dark on the outside as well as inside. She opened the car door and after several deep breaths she strode determinedly to the front door hoping that she wasn't too late. Cautiously, as she reached for the front door she was surprised to find it unlocked. As she stepped into the house, it was completely dark. Although it appeared as if no one was home, Zoe could barely make out crying coming from upstairs.

She came into the upstairs hallway, and followed the soft crying into a bedroom and found Madeline in the attached bathroom facing the mirror.

"I'm not a coward. They'll see," she said to herself. Her hand was shaking was she pressed the knife blade against her throat. Right beneath her jaw was the carotid artery. Zoe could tell that Madeline was trying to get up her courage to cut herself to end it all.

"Madeline. . ." Zoe called out softly so not to startle her.

Madeline gasped her surprise. "Zoe? What are you doing here?"

"I was concerned . . . there is a better way to deal with this."

"Go away Zoe, this is the only way, " Zoe flinched visibly.

Zoe tried to not make any sudden moves. "Talk to me, Madeline. What's going on here?"

"Nothing!" The fifteen year old said brows furrowed. "I'm just tired... of it all."

"Tired of what?"

"You don't understand; no one can understand . . ." Madeline cried.

"No one understands what? That you want to hurt yourself? That you want to punish yourself? That you want to die? All because you believe you deserve it?" Zoe said cognizant of all the sadness and isolation that plagued her darkness and permeated her reality since youth.

Madeline looked at Zoe; apparent surprise in her eyes. Zoe nodded her head. "Madeline, I understand. I know how you feel because I remember feeling that way too, many years ago."

Madeline allowed Zoe to get closer to her, check her cuts, clean them, and dress them. With Zoe's arm suddenly giving sturdy support, Madeline found herself turned around and pulled into the bedroom and over to the bed to sit. "Do you want to tell me when you started hurting yourself?"

"It. . ." she paused as she looked at her parents' picture on her side table. "It's not fair. . . why did I live and they . . . I don't know . . . I just . . . thought . . . that . . . " her voice trailed off. Zoe held her hand clearly seeing the perplexity and hurt in her eyes and voice.

"You thought that if you were in pain, it would somehow make up for them being gone." Zoe completed for her, as she squeezed her hand, offering her comfort.

Madeline had started to cry and lean towards her. "I'm so sorry..."

"Shhhh." Zoe rocked her gently. "Madeline, its ok, there is nothing to be sorry about."

Madeline wrapped her arms around Zoe and held on tightly, and slowly her shaking began to subside. Zoe could tell that she didn't want to drive anybody away anymore - right now she needed somebody to lean on and remind her that life would be ok again.

"Zoe? Can you tell me your story?" Madeline asked and Zoe didn't feel she could refuse. Her story would help Madeline so much.

* * *

"Finch, she's not making that up is she?" John asked. He and Harold were listening to the conversation Zoe was having with Madeline. The pain in Zoe's voice as she admitted to having the same feelings in the past was palpable.

"I don't believe she is, Mr. Reese." Harold replied.

_I knew this girl once. Young, naïve . . . She got a tough lesson on how the world really works._

Such a tough age to lose all hope, John thought as he and Finch listened to Zoe detail her childhood after her father was taken away.

_Every evening in the solitude of her bedroom before bed – she used a knife to make one inch marks along her skin, anywhere she could, her inner thigh, the bend of her elbow, her stomach. Her skin would become sensitive and seemed to come alive at the touch of the knife, alive with excitement. All the while thinking, "I can do this anytime I want to and no one can stop me."_

_One day during an assembly in front of the whole school, she had been called one of just five "Outstanding Students" of the year, her dad couldn't be there; he was in jail. Momma forgot._

_She needed to hurt, to be punished and to bleed. She needed a world to hide in, a place where she could take control and defy others' control over her._

_Fourteen year old Zoe could go without eating for hours – she never ate breakfast and often felt too restless to sit still to eat a meal, especially when it was just her mother and herself. You could say that she was slightly anorexic except that cutting was so much more exhilarating, because it was so much more perilous and prohibited._

_Ultimately, the secrecy and guilt affected Zoe's relationship with friends and the way she felt about herself. It made her feel even more lonely, worthless, and trapped._

* * *

"Madeline, most kids that cut try to keep it a secret. You feel ashamed or think that no one would understand. But hiding who you are and what you feel can be a tough thing to handle." The empathy in Zoe's voice was clear.  _Even for an adult._

"What you need to realize is . . . Madeline Rios, you deserve to feel better, and you can get there without hurting yourself." Zoe echoed Jaime's words; words that had helped her through a tough time in her life.

* * *

"Yes, thank you Miss Morgan." Finch ended the call.

"Well, Madeline is in safe hands at the moment. Miss Morgan was able to get her into a residential treatment facility. With counseling and therapy, hopefully Madeline will be all right." Finch's voice trailed off as he realized that John was lost in his own world.

John folded his arms and leaned against the window frame. He gazed out at the blackness surrounding the city. It was late into the evening to see anything of the city except lights.

_. . . That is what I want to be, the person that knows what to say and always has something to trade._

For knowing what to say to Madeline Rios, what did Zoe have to trade? Zoe wasn't clueless; she knew that Finch and possibly John were listening to her and Madeline. Yet, she didn't make up a story for the sake of saving the girl. Zoe traded her most guarded secret. That underneath all that bravado, she, at one point in her life, saw herself as weak for succumbing to the temptation to self-harm. Such admittance was significant.

She came across as acerbic and aggravating. As if she didn't care about anyone or anything except herself. Most feared her, some hated her, but he saw past the mask she puts on everyday for others to see. John was slowly starting to understand the way she thought. The way she acted when no one was looking drew him to her. He now knew what her self-defined weakness was but refused to prey upon it.

He wanted to know even more about her. To know who she really was. He'd give anything for her, yet he didn't know why. He would most certainly protect her, but she would never ask him. She would never ask him for anything. Because to ask for something with nothing in return, was a sign of weakness and she didn't want anyone to think she was weak.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold nudged John out of his thoughts.

John aimed a questioning look at Harold.

"I was asking if you were going to see Miss Morgan."

"Do I need to?" John asked, tight lipped.

"Mr. Reese," Harold said as if speaking to a child. "How do you think she feels given what took place tonight?" Harold asked; thought-provoking as always.

With a sigh, John held his arms down his sides as if in attention. "She's afraid that she revealed too much about herself." John admitted.

"She's frightened." Finch agreed. "John, in her life Miss Morgan believes that information is the key to everything. By revealing too much of her past, she fears that you will think she's weak."

John frowned. "I don't think she's weak, Finch."

"Really?" Finch asked, arching his brows questioningly. "Then why did you leave her a few months ago?"

"To protect her, I told her that," John said.

"Don't you see, John," Finch said quietly. "Miss Morgan knows she can take care of herself. That she doesn't need protecting and would never ask it of you."

John buried his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and glared in frustration at the city below. "What am I supposed to do, Finch?" He asked simply.

"Do you care about her?" John's friend asked in return.

John nodded seriously. "Yes."

Finch skewed his head questioningly. "Is she worth fighting for?" He asked.

"Of course," John answered without a pause.

"Then you need to fight for her." Finch stated simply. "Your adversary will not be her fears and self-doubt; it will be your fear of not being able to protect her."

John's brow wrinkled with a frown. He nodded, turned and headed out of the library.

"John," Finch called to the friend's retreating form. "There is something else that you need to remember."

John cocked his head with interest.

Finch, in his awkward gait, crossed the space between them and rested a kind hand on John's shoulder. "Miss Morgan's vulnerability is mirrored in you. You are just as frightened, just as disbelieving about this as she is. You mustn't forget that. Recognize your own uncertainty for what it is."


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

The hot shower helped relax her tight muscles. The only other thing that would completely relax her would be a bottle of scotch, but since she didn't want to dull her senses completely, she decided to forgo that. The memories that the past few days and weeks brought up were taxing on the nerves. Her guilt about almost not being able to get through to Madeline in time was constantly on her mind. And Madeline wasn't out of the woods yet.

As she opened the bathroom door, she was toweling her hair dry so, she didn't see it coming. She was grabbed from behind, her wrists effectively shackled by a strong hand. After momentary panic and the required struggling, she realized she knew who her assailant was.

John was surprised that she had stopped struggling so quickly and that she didn't scream or curse at him. He turned her around, her wrists still bound by his hand, so he could talk to her face to face. The expression in her eyes was questioning. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I just needed to resolve our situation in my head," he paused waiting to see whether she would resume her struggling or try to knee him in the groin. Relieved that she didn't do either and seeing the inquisitive expression in her eyes, he forged on.

"Over the last several months, I haven't been fair to you. I left, but not completely. The last few weeks it became clear to me what it is I needed from you. And besides the obvious . . ." he paused, "I need one more thing from you. After you hear me out and give me a definitive answer, I promise, I will get out your life and stay out."

Her nearness and the heady scent of her perfume took over his impulses. John leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips. Feeling her offer no resistance, he slid his arms around her continued kissing her fervently, conveying his obvious need. He pulled away from her mouth and stared again into her surprised eyes. "That kiss was a long time coming." He said quietly.

Taking advantage of the diversion, she shoved him away from her and stalked into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - that wasn't my intent in coming here," he said distractedly pinching the bridge of his nose. He followed her into the room. He needed to do this. It had only been recently that he realized the depth of his feelings for this wonderful, remarkable, but conflicted woman.

"You know, there are so many things that I can't tell you. About me, Finch, and what we do. I know you understand what we do and why we do it, but not how we know what we know. And I'm sorry, but I can't tell you because the less you know, the safer you would be. Six weeks ago, you asked me to stay away, and I found that I couldn't."

He smiled at her. "This. . . " he said, indicating between them with his hand, ". . . there is something between us that is just too important… and something I'd like to continue because it just feels . . . I don't know . . . just right. I want to fight this fight with you."

At her continued silence, John looked at her curiously. She stood in the middle of the room in her robe, hair still damp from the shower, arms down to her sides. She looked magnificent. Zoe started worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Something she did when she was trying to work something out in her brain. She glanced at John who looked so hopeful that her heart melted, knowing what it took to say what he had said and as much as he had said. She turned her head away and looked at the floor.

"Your life is still yours. I can leave now if you want me to." John prodded.

Remaining silent, she walked to him, brown eyes meeting blue; she took his arms and put them around her waist. She did the same with John, putting her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Don't go. Stay," she said.

John gave a sigh of relief and just stood there embracing her. She led him to the bed and just sat next to him then lay down on her side facing him.

John rested an uncertain hand on her hip. Taking it in hers, she joined their fingers together. Their eyes met as he pulled her close as if it were the most natural thing. She nestled her face into the crook of his neck and breathed in a sigh of relief.

* * *

Dawn hadn't broken yet when Zoe woke up still wrapped in John's arms. Her head was tucked under his chin and her arms were still wrapped around John. Lifting her head and laying it on the pillow next to his, she couldn't help smiling. She watched him sleep in a uniquely unguarded moment.

Moving her hand from his chest, she slowly slid it under his shirt. Her smile widened when she felt nothing but the tightly packed muscles of his abdominals and chest. For a few minutes she just basked in the silence, gently rubbing his chest and torso, noting that he was still asleep. Her hand that was under his shirt had somehow made its way to his face to gently trace his lips with her fingers. His eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of Zoe hovering over him.

Zoe's smile warmed his heart. Her eyes were soft and inviting.

"Hi." His voice was gravelly, rough with sleep.

"Hi," she whispered back.

She leaned in and brushed her lips to his so softly, then slowly drew back to gauge his reaction and saw that he wanted the same thing. She kissed him again with all the emotion she wasn't able to say out loud. Unable to hold himself back, he reached over and cupped the back of her head in his palm. He returned her kisses again and again. The flow of heat and want between them intensified as their lips brushed and their breaths came together.

Zoe opened her mouth to John and kissed him suitably for the first time in months. His response was just as full of longing as hers; the fog of slumber completely vanished. John's taste, his touch, his smell was all so uniquely John- although familiar, it was still exhilarating at the same time and Zoe just couldn't get enough. She never thought that this sense of awareness and comfort could make her heart race quickly, every time she was with him. She shouldn't be surprised anymore at her reaction to his touch.

Her heart continued to beat a rapid staccato as she unhurriedly kissed him. They had all the time in the world.

They were lost in indolent, Sunday morning kisses, as their hands roamed each others' bodies. His hands, which were previously occupied with caressing her back, moved lower towards her rear. She pulled back for a beat to roll him onto his back and to take control.

As her legs naturally parted around him, she raised herself on her elbows to look at him. Zoe couldn't stop herself from gently stroking his face again. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she inhaled his scent as she pressed warm kisses to his skin.

She sat up straddling his waist. It was the first time John saw what she had slept in. It was the t-shirt he had leant her the day she had come over to stay at his loft for the first time many months ago. At the recognition in his eyes, Zoe gave him a shy smile with a touch of coyness. Well, as shy as Zoe was ever going to get. She had worn the t-shirt for comfort every night in the past three months. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, she gasped at the contact as he sighed, almost commenting how perfect they fit then reached up to draw the shirt over her head. They slowly took the rest of their clothes off as they took the time to touch each other, relishing the feeling of skin touching skin.

John let Zoe set the pace as she slowly brought him into her, inch by inch. He frowned in concern as he felt her stiffen, her breath hitching in her throat, as she stopped her agonizingly slow movement only halfway down. To steady herself, she reached forward and rested her hand on his chest, as she took her time to take a deep breath, almost as if she were fortifying herself. Zoe glanced up and caught his concerned frown. Her mouth tightly smiled though it looked more like it was contorted in pain.

"Three m-months," she explained as her breath hitched once again.

He nodded faintly, furtively elated by what he had just discovered. She hadn't been with anyone since they were together last, three months ago; she took comfort in his shirt during his absence; and asked him not to go. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers soothingly over her body. Kissing his fingertips, he laid them on the faint almost invisible scars on her inner thighs and her stomach. He felt her relax as she took him in completely.

Discovering a placid measured cadence, Zoe began to move evenly on him. As she adjusted to him, she wanted more. "I want you deeper, John," she whispered as she stilled her actions then bent down and sought his lips. Hooking her arms under his shoulders, she brought him up with her then moved to sit again. She caught her breath as he was driven deeper inside.

Zoe moaned softly, running her hands up and down his back, moving almost restlessly with him. John kissed his way down her chest to one of her breasts. Plying a succession of gentle kisses around her breast, he worked circles into her nipple. He sucked hard as he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling small circles over the tip. Zoe groaned as she ran her hands through John's hair, tightening her arms around him and pushing her breast further into his mouth.

Bodies touching, they were as close as two people could get. In the past Zoe would have been frightened of the intimacy, the closeness, now she just wanted to consume this connection with him. After months of feeling alone and incomplete without him, she savored the intimacy.

Swiftly, John reversed their positions. As he hovered over her, he moved one of his hands between their bodies and ran his fingers over her as he continued to move against her. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, running over hers. Zoe tightened her legs around him as her nails on one hand ran through his scalp and the nails on the other scraping across his back. She kissed him harder and moved her tongue against his, as she matched her movements to his. His fingers worked over her faster and harder as he continued to thrust into her. Tearing his lips away from hers, he whispered in her ear "Come for me sweetheart. . . "

Their faces were close and they never broke eye contact as Zoe let out a gasp as she came, still moving her hips against his, her body tightening around him. John watched her with a smile on his face as he continued to move. He bent down and kissed her lips, moving harder and faster into her. As he felt his body shuddering, Zoe wrapped her arms and legs even tighter around him. John groaned his pleasure as he slowed down his pace. He wrapped both arms around Zoe and pulled her tightly to him.

Lying in the aftermath, with their arms around each other, Zoe's head pillowed on John's chest, they remained a tousled confusion of limbs. He sighed and said, "I missed you."

Zoe smiled, her head still lying on his chest. "You missed this, John."

Running his fingers through her hair, he admitted, "No, I missed you, being with you."

Zoe lifted her head and saw the honesty of his words in his eyes. She bent down and pressed her lips onto his gently and smiled. "I missed you too, John."

Grabbing his other hand, she laced her fingers through his and laid her head back down. They stayed that way until their breathing evened out and they fell back asleep.

 

The End


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